


Mark of Blood

by TheHatMeister (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 06:43:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2763488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/TheHatMeister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after S10Ep9. Dean can no longer deal with owning the Mark of Cain, and takes matters into his own hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mark of Blood

Dean lay in bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark. Sam was asleep across from him, breathing deeply and evenly. Dean, on the other hand, knew he wouldn’t sleep a wink that night. The images of the bloody corpses he had mutilated three nights ago still appeared in front of him every time he closed his eyes. What was even worse was the look of horror Sam had given him when he’d entered the room.  
“Tell me you had to do this, Dean. Tell me it was them or you!” He’d been on his knees, not caring if his trousers were stained with the blood of the men Dean had murdered, begging him, pleading for the truth to be anything but. As the bloodlust cooled, Dean’s rage was replaced by intense guilt. He’d told Sammy he was better, that the Mark of Cain no longer held sway over him. Now Sam would see how he’d lied, just to stop his pain. But now, the deception was over. He’d have to face Sam, and Cas...oh God, how could he deal with that? The way Cas had stared in abject horror, shielding Clare’s eyes. More than just the horror, the pity, the way he thought of Dean as no more than an animal giving into his base desire. The urge to kill…  
The thoughts swam up through his sleep-hazed mind again. Kill, they said. Kill them all. They’re just meat. Sacrifice, ripe for slaughter….  
Dean wanted to scream, but bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. He couldn’t stand it any more. Trying to resist the Mark every day had taken its toll, and Dean was at the edge of his sanity. Having the words screamed at him every night, the sick, twisted pleasure he’d felt as he drove the knife through each thug’s heart. Hearing their death rattle as their warm blood spurted over his grinning face, screams of agony only fueling his adrenaline. No more, he thought. No more. Never again.  
Stepping quietly so as to not wake Sam, he went to the bathroom, holding his knife. The Mark was never going to bother him again, he had decided. His expression set, he knelt on the cold, cracked tile. Holding his arm over the yellowed tub, he placed a towel in his mouth so his screams wouldn’t awaken Sam. He traced the Mark lightly with his blade. Never again, he thought. You’ll never bother me again. Clenching his jaw, he readied himself to make the cut. Dean cut a rough oval through the skin, but not too deep. That wasn’t the point. He wasn’t ready to leave Sammy yet. The real pain would come in a moment. Working the blade at the tip of the oval, he twisted it horizontally and began to pull it towards himself. His head arched back in pain, and tears came to his eyes, but he didn’t scream. The blood was welling up faster now, dripping down his arm and into the tub. Halfway through, the pain became nearly unbearable as countless nerves were severed. Resting his arms on the edge of the tub, he began to pant when he removed the towel. He noticed he was slightly dizzy. Damn, he must have nicked an artery. But he had to get the Mark off; Sam could patch him up later. He had to stop the bloodlust. Dean pressed the knife on through its grisly journey, but his vision was starting to blur and his ears were ringing. As his thoughts went black, his knife clattered to the floor, the piece of skin containing the Mark hanging by a thread.  
An hour later, Sam lazily woke up and stretched. Looking over, he saw Dean’s bed was empty. Hearing the water running in the bathroom, he assumed Dean was in the shower. He knocked on the door.  
“Hey, Dean? I’m coming in.” He opened the bathroom door and gasped. Dean was slumped over the bath, which was filled with crimson blood. Seeing the knife in Dean’s hand, he leaned against the door for stability for a minute, breathing hard.  
“No,” he whispered. “No, no no nonononoNO!” Sitting hard near his brother’s prone body, he grabbed Dean’s shoulders.  
“Dean,” he said, desperately. “Wake up. Wake up!” Dean didn’t stir. Fumbling through his jacket pockets, Sam shakily dialed in three numbers. “I need an ambulance,” he stuttered out, and gave the address. He grabbed a towel and pressed it against Dean’s arm. “Hang on, Dean,” Sam choked out. “Hang on.”  
Dean woke up in a hospital bed, restrained hand and foot. Irritated, he pulled on the bonds. Having dozed off in a chair, Sam’s head snapped up at the noise.  
“Hey, Sammy, what’s the deal here?” His arm burned with pain, and he was tired. He knew being in the hospital would put a drain on their resources, and he hated them anyway.  
“So that you don’t hurt yourself any more,” Sam replied, rubbing his eyes. “But Dean,” he said tiredly, standing up. “Oh, God, Dean. Why would you do that? I know the mark and everything was bugging you, but...this? You know you could’ve talked to me, I would’ve helped-”  
“But you can’t!” Dean snapped. “You think I’m a monster, controlled by this damn thing! I see the way you look at me, the way Cas does. You’re not concerned, you just don’t want me flipping my lid and going all psycho on your asses!” He slumped back in the bed, drained. “I just wanted it gone,” Dean said despondently. “It won’t stop. The Mark won’t stop, not until I die. I can’t take it any more, Sammy. I don’t wanna live with this thing any more.” Tears welled up in his eyes, but Dean fought them back. It always crushed Sam to see his brother like this, clearly in pain but still trying to protect him. Impulsively, he grabbed Dean in a bear hug.  
“It’s ok Dean,” he said, choking back tears himself. “We’re gonna fix this, and then things are gonna go back to normal, yeah?”  
“Yeah,” Dean said, sniffing slightly. And somehow, this time he believed it.


End file.
